


Alright, Chief.

by definitely_not_samoa



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Dualscar as a dad, Gen, Humanstuck, Misgendering, Terrible Father, genderfluid eridan, just not in school, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitely_not_samoa/pseuds/definitely_not_samoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan starts to explore gender identity. Cronus is accepting. Their father is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alright, Chief.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, would you look at that? It's March.

_Click. Click. Click. Click._

   The clicking rung through the room as you paced on the hardwood floor behind your bedroom door. Oh god, the pacing. It was a bad habit and you did it when you were nervous. Like biting your nails, or talking to yourself, or wringing your wrist. All of which you've done within the past ten minutes.

   "Oh god," you sighed less than quietly. You need to calm down, just _calm down_. Deep breathes. There. Even breathing. Stop bouncing. Bouncing? Yes, you were bouncing. You stopped.

   "Just... Just walk. Walk out there. Easy... real easy."  You patted down the skirt. Oh, the skirt! The perfect purple and chiffon fabric that ended a little below the knees. Not your words but Kanaya's, who made it. You couldn't thank her enough. Not only for the skirt but for talking with you and understanding. She was the first person you could go to. The only person you could go to. You had to talk out this... this feeling you had been having. The one that landed you in your new and perfect garb. You faintly smiled, remembering the conversation.

 

   "I don't like it. Men are seen as... as protectors! Protectors, providers, masculine, emotionless, self reliant! I am zero of those things." It was the day beforehand as you and Kanaya walked home from school, you on edge to the point you jumped when cars whizzed by, and lord was it a lot, and she as cool and collected as ever.

   She did the silent chuckle and smirk thing. You couldn't _stand_ that thing. " You are no where near one of those things," She agreed. You shifted your books to one hand so a free hand could block the sunlight. You flicked Kanaya's head on the way.  How she could stand all this light was beyond you; it shone in your eyes and gave the worst glare off your cheap glasses. Out of all the people you knew she spent the most time in the sun and yet was somehow paler than snow in a winters storm. Like a vampire but not.

   You continued," But I'm also not a girl, I just like what goes along with being one. If that makes sense." She stopped walking, lucky you, under a shaded tree, to think of an answer.

   "Well," she said after a moment," the 'umbrella term' is non-binary, but this sounds more like genderfluid-ness."

   "Genderfluid-ness," you repeated.

   She nodded. "Associated with being genderfluid." She swayed as she said 'fluid', as if to give imagery to the words.

    You thought about it for a second. "I like it."

   "Good." She put her green backpack on the cement at her feet. After unzipping it and rummaging through it for a second she pulled out a heap of lilac fabric and purple suede shoes. Heel's to be exact. Her outstretched arm held the pile at your chest.

   "What is it?"

   "Yours," she answered shrugging as if everyday she presented new clothes to you. "You mentioned wanting to talk about something, so, viola, I made this."

   You grabbed the bundle and cradled it like a precious child. "You psychoanalyzed me saying 'we need to talk' enough to point of sewing me a...," you held out the lilac and cradled the heels more,"... you made a skirt."

   "I thought you'd want it. My powers of psychoanalysis are usually always on par."

   You held the skirt up to the sunlight. "And those powers told you what exactly?"

   "That you may or  may not be adding to your already fabulous wardrobe."

   Lilac, like before mentioned, with black silk hem. Shorter in the front and longer in the back. Utterly perfect. You cracked a large smile. "Fabulous indeed." You hugged Kanaya and put the clothes on top of your already large stack of items to take home. The two of you started walking again.

 

   The heels and skirt looked great with a purple sweater and, of course, the blue scarf. The shoes and sweater matched your hair, and the skirt just felt so _freeing_. You could now see why your friend wore them so often. It made you smile as you teetered from heel to heel to _heel to heel to_... you stopped. Teetering/ bouncing: tell tale signs of nervousness or anxiety.  Kanaya had invited you to a day out before you both departed to separate households yesterday. The perfect time to show off the new additions to your wardrobe. You just didn't count on one thing: your _family_.

 

   Your father had been out of town the past three days on business and you figured he wouldn't be back for a while. Of course though, he sauntered through the front door last night during 'Gone With The Wind'. He was also sulking and threw his briefcase on the couch with too much force; all signs he didn't exactly succeed at whatever was going on at work. Fear struck you down then and there, and not because Scarlett was going through some shanty town alone.

 

  Still though, you were wearing a skirt when you could throw on some jeans and easily walk out the front door. You were not afraid. You were shaking but in defense the latches on  the window have been broken since before the dawn of time and it was pretty early morning spring. 

   Maybe you were _a little_ scared.

   But do clocks care? No. Because the clocks ticked as was Kanaya's patience. Probably. So you needed to hike up your skirt and walk out there now if you wanted to make it in time.

   God damn it, you were funny. But right. You set your hand on the doorknob and prepped yourself again. It's, like, ten steps to the door. You could take ten steps. No one was going to say anything in those ten steps and you'd be out the door wondering why you worried in the first place. Yeah. Everything was gonna play out fine. Play out fine in three, two, one...

   No one even looked at you. Your brother was on the couch flipping through a motorcycle magazine and your father was at the table looking through what seemed to be different work papers. This was definitely going to be easier than expected. You started walking to the front door as nonchalantly as possible, even if you were slightly stumbling. 

   Note to future self: If time travel technology ever exists or you somehow discover long dormant magic powers you will use such things to travel back in time to when you were six and  _slap yourself across the face_. Why? Because you were the six year old genius who decided to become interior designer extraordinaire and had the brilliant idea to put the sectional right in the middle of the living room and make it the first thing you would see when walking out of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Meaning it's virtually impossible to get to the front door without drawing the attention of those on the couch. Which, as pre-stated, was your brother.

   "Where're you headin'?" Note to future self: if given the opportunity to get away clean on the first possible chance _stab your fucking brother_. Your jaw clenched as you shot him daggers sharp enough to take down the entire three hundred. You also prayed that maybe your father would miraculously go deaf in the last three seconds and not hear your brother's comment thus not look up.

  God, Gods, Buddha,  _whoever_ apparently was not listening today because your father's eyes flashed up to yours. Or they would've, had you not been three inches taller. So instead they went to your necklace, then from your necklace to your bracelet, bracelet to skirt, skirt to foot wear. You gulped and started to rub your wrists.

   "Eridan, _son_ , what the hell are you wearing?" Your father was no longer looking through papers and was now focusing all attention to you. Shit.

   Your eyes widened as you pursed your lips and shook your head. "Just something a friend made me." You crossed your legs, trying to cover yourself maybe to the point he would think this was all an illusion.

   "Your friend does know you're a boy right?" Oh, god. Your father was standing up and walking your way.

   "Well, I-I guess, but, um, skirts aren't only a girl thing right? I mean maybe, maybe I like it. It's very, um, nice really. Flowy. And the, uh, shoes don't hurt as much as I thought they would and I'm taller, that's good. Always been kinda short. So-," your father cut you off.

   "I don't know what you  _think_ you're wearing but whatever it is you can go change." A stern finger in your face then pointing at the door.

   You avoided your father's gaze. " I want to wear this out." The old man only laughed.

   "You're joking." He laughed more. You kept silent. He stopped. "You better be joking." More silence from you. He sighed and stepped back, putting the palms of his hands to his eyes. "Lord, Eridan. Christ. Why are you always looking for so much goddamned attention? You've never seen your brother walking around like some damn drag queen." You couldn't believe it. He thought you were looking for attention. You bit your lip. "Well?" You looked up to meet your father's eyes from where he now was behind the couch. "Go change." A finger repointed at your door. "Now."

   You could barely talk your mouth was so dry. "No."

   Your father pantomimed not hearing you. "I'm sorry, 'no'? What the hell did you just say to me?" He wasn't shouting but lord was he close.  

   You were looking straight into his eyes. "No. This is what I feel comfortable wearing. I'm going to wear it out." Rage was seething from your father.

   "Eridan, you must have been hit on the head so I'm going to say this slowly. _You. Are. A. Boy._ Boy's do _not_ wear skirts or heels. That simple. Go change and then forget all these silly ideas."

   You would just to stop the now yelling. But you were already out here and if not now then when? You swallowed the fear. "Maybe I was born a boy, but I don't identify as one." You visibly saw your father stop. Stop thinking, stop moving, stop _breathing_.  

   "Identify? IDENTIFY!?" You were in heels but your father still towered over you and was now screaming in your face. "Are you a girl now!?" You cringed away slightly as your father screamed and spit in your face. Hot tears welled in your eyes. Your father gasped and put his hands over his chest, pretending to perturbed. "Oh! Oh no! Are you sad!? Are you gonna cry little Erika!?" He was bending his knees trying to get into your face. You were too stunned to move and the hot tears streamed down your face. The sadistic man laughed and looked at your brother sitting with his face buried in the magazine. "You see this, Cronus? Your _sister's_ crying! Ain't that a shame!?" Your brother only gave a small noise from the back of his throat. In agreement or disapproval you couldn't tell.

  "St-stop!" You managed to choke out the words between shoulder shaking sobs. It only made him angrier.

   "Stop? Are you sad, Erika!? Because, so AM I! I'm the one with a HUGE DISSAPOINTMENT for a son! Oh, wait. I'm sorry. For a _DAUGHTER!"_ Your knees buckled ,but your father had one fistful of your hair pinning you against the wall. "If you want to be a girl then fine! Go dance and wear pink and bake and wear makeup, but know that if you do so I will _disown you_." You almost wish he was screaming again that way he'd at least be outta your face and not hissing into your neck. Had the scarf not been their his teeth probably would've been close to drawing blood. " _Go. Get. Changed._ Don't even bother trying to leave in anything less than full length jeans." He let you go and it took every last ounce of will power to not sink to your knees and cry. You stumbled back to your room, locked the door, and laid down on your comforter trying to muffle your sobs making sure no one could hear it through the thin walls.

 

  You probably cried for ten minutes before there was a tapping on your window. Quickly wiping your face with your sleeves, you pushed the window farther open and looked to see your brother in his jacket. You rubbed your nose again. "Oh, did you come to take your jab at me, too," you asked, voice wavering. Cronus looked hurt.

   "No! God, Eridan. I-."

   "Don't you mean Erika?" Cronus sighed and rubbed his temples while shifting his weight from foot to foot.

   He stuck his hand out towards the window. "Would you just get down here?" You thought for a second but skeptically took his hand anyway. In a second you were on the un-mowed grass that surrounded the house.

   "What do you want?" Your brother didn't answer. Instead, he led you by the hand stumbling to the driveway where he had his motorcycle parked. It was vintage from the fifties; his most valuable possession. He let go of your hand and you watched him get on the bike, not yet starting it.

   He looked at you from his bike and shrugged. "When was the last time I got you a present? Birthdays and holidays included." You didn't know, but it's been a long time. Your silence spoke volumes for him. "Exactly. Cancel your plans and hop on."

   You did. One text to cancel plans and you got on the back end of the bike. Cronus started the bike up and revved it a couple time before you were both speeding down the street. You had your head pressed to his back and you could see the lilac of the skirt flying behind. You gave a small tired smile.

   "So," your brother asked over the noise of the bike and other traffic," what should I call you?"

   You shrugged. "What do you mean?"

   "Like when I refer to you or something that's yours." You hadn't though about that. Not his, definitely not hers. You couldn't think of more pronouns off the top of your head.

   "Just... Eridan's."

   "Alright." You could recognize the area, having lived in the city your whole life. He was heading towards the shops downtown. Clothing shops, most of them. You smiled wider and tightened your grip on your brother as some sort of hug.

   "Or chief's." You could feel the vibrations of Cronus' laugh from where your head was on his back.

   "Alright, _chief_." You laughed with him. Note to future self: maybe don't murder your brother. Maybe.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now, I personally don't like March Eridan since it's a hurtful joke. But a trans/genderfluid/ non-binary Eridan that's not a joke? Hit me up with some o' that. Also:  
> 1\. Did I misspell something? Probably. Put in my ask box on the tumblr mentioned in my profile. Thank ye.  
> 2\. Boy, do I love italics, and for that I am sorry.  
> 3\. Thank you for reading! It does mean oh so much!


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